The Moth to the Flame
by Emily-in-the-glass
Summary: Modernized Persuasion.


The rain was falling in thin, icy sleets on the glass panes of Kellynch College. It was the perfect day, Anne thought, to curl up in bed with a cup of camomile tea and a stack of books. Anne Elliott, though, didn't have a bed at present. Which was why she had hied herself to the campus library, knowing that she would find the peace and solace here that was impossible in her sister's messy living room, where her belongings - and her soul - were constantly trampled upon by Mary's rambunctious roommates.

The old library was easily Anne's favourite spot on campus. In the course of her five years at Kellynch she had come to know every one of its mahogany panelled rooms like a personal friend. It was only natural, of course, for commuters to linger in the library between classes; but Anne Elliott would have been a library rat anyways. Nothing brought her such a wave of delight as the tall and narrow shelves, crammed with books: glossy books fresh from the publisher, musty books over a century old, books that were worn to tatters from being so beloved - or informative, since Anne rather suspected that the ordinary student did not love books as ardently as was her wont. She felt like a kid in a candy store here, eager to touch and taste - or read - everything, except Anne had never been into candy even as a kid. She had never really been like other kids, so they thought her dull, if they thought about her at all. Anne never did anything with her hair and she always wore a slim gray cardigan with brown or beige corduroys, so she blended right in to the woodwork. And she had this self-effacing quality about her, as if she actually preferred to be a wallflower.

Two rooms down the corridor was the Rose Room where she had met him: perhaps the only person she had ever known who did not allow her to simply dissolve into the background. Memories flooded Anne every time she came to the library: maybe that was why she loved this place so much. She always paused by the door of the Rose Room, like a moth drawn to a flame. She could replay every minute instant - but she knew that she shouldn't, Aunt Cathy had always said she had a tendency to be obsessive. Anne thanked her stars that Aunt Cathy didn't know _how_ obsessive she could be. Anne could tell you, for instance, where exactly she had gone on her first, and only, three very memorable dates: what he was saying seconds before he kissed her, what she was wearing, what he smelled like, what song was playing on the radio in the background. Anne possessed something of a photographic memory, which brought her much pleasure and pain.

She couldn't help giving in to the half-memory, half-daydream, relived so incessantly over the past five years, that a tall figure would appear beside her and place his large hands over her eyes, and say in a pig's whisper into her ear:

"Anne. Anne Elliot."

Anne jumped. Someone was really calling her, not just a figment of her deluded imagination.

"Hello, Albert." she smiled instantly when she spotted her old economics professor. "So you're working this lovely Saturday afternoon? I guess the semester is almost over and it's crunch time."

Professor Albert Crawford snorted. "Lovely is a euphemism for weather like that, Anne Elliott. And busy is an understatement for this time of the year. Everything snowballs the week before exams, and I guess you've heard the gossip around town about my adjunct."

"I don't think I have," Anne faltered. She rarely heard gossip of any sort.

"No? Well, Rothko was busted for plagiarism -- the University clean booted him out. I told them I couldn't run the senior seminars next term without another faculty member, not to mention I'm short staffed on teaching assistants for the undergrad lectures. The hiring budget won't allow for ... "

"Yes." Anne nodded listlessly, thinking inevitably of the year she had been in his class. It was just after...

"Anne, this is a long story. You probably need to get going," the professor's forehead creased as he noted the darkening sky. "You've got a long commute, haven't you? The train service is going to be awful from that hail, and the Uppercross line wasn't running when I came in earlier."

"Oh - I'm staying downtown now. For a little while." Anne stammered and blushed. She was so pleased that Professor Crawford remembered her commuting situation, that she was anxious to correct his misplaced concern.

'Oh, is that so? Good for you. You've got your own place now, then."

"No, I'm crashing at my sister's just until I defend my thesis. My dad relocated out to Camden."

"Ah, I see. Are you going to stay in Kellynch then after you graduate then? Listen, if you're not heading off, why don't we grab a cup of coffee?"

Anne was only too grateful that he didn't pursue the question of her post-graduation plans - she had none. He steered her to the downstairs cafe that was a favourite hangout of the history department. Anne had wanted to work here part-time, but Aunt Cathy wouldn't hear of it. "We can get you everything you need, love," her aunt had soothed, but in reality Anne's father had very little pocket money for her. With a part time job she could have subsidized rent, or saved up for a second-hand car, for instance, although Aunt Cathy would never hear of her driving a shabby old Chevrolet. After all, Anne figured she probably didn't have the necessary glamour to get hired by a coffee shop. She watched the dark-eyed barrista fill Professor Crawford's thermos, handing it to him with a complimentary brownie and a grin. He was clearly a frequent patron.

"What would you like, Anne?"

Anne stared at the menu and hesitated. She was embarrassingly indecisive when it came to ordering. She didn't drink coffee, and her conscience wouldn't let her get herbal tea when she had just splurged on a tin of assorted blends from Teatopia.

"I'll- I'll have a hot chocolate." her eyes lighted on the item, but she felt childish as soon as she placed her order. When she got her drink Anne warmed her hands nervously on the paper cup, occasionally applying her lips to the plastic lid, but afraid to take a sip lest the beverage was too hot. Her professor took a hearty gulp of his coffee.

"So did you need any help next term? I'm working towards my thesis defence in March, but if you ever needed a grad student to help give tutorials, I'd be happy to."

"I believe I could use your help!" Albert Crawford exclaimed enthusiastically. "Not as teaching assistant, but there's a trip to Johannesburg during reading week that I could use another TA on. None of the panel can make it. The university will cover your expenses, of course. How does that suit you, Anne?"

"I think - I'd like to help."

"Excellent, I'll give you the details closer to date. It'll be good to have you on board. There's a fellow that I'm hoping the university will hire to replace Rothko, and if he could make the field trip it would be fantastic. He's a Kellynch graduate, very experienced in field work. He spent the last few years backpacking through Cambodia and Myanmar, working in impoverished villages to start grassroots cooperative banks... microeconomics at its best, as you can see. The problem is, he only has a bachelor's degree: but he's young and dynamic and exactly the sort of staff we should have in our courses. He's a very charismatic fellow, and I think you'd like him."

"I'm sure I would."

"He can't be much older than you. He graduated... let's see, three four years ago. His name is Derrick Wentworth. Perhaps you know him?"

Anne, who had been nibbling on the brownie, suddenly paused. Unsure where to put her fingers, she quickly took up her hot chocolate as a nervous reflex. The hot liquid numbed her mouth.

"Are you alright, Anne?"

"I burned my tongue." she whimpered piteously.


End file.
